


Simply Smashing

by PencilDragon



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Consent is Sexy, Erotica, F/M, Female-Centric, First Time, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Sex-positivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7927366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilDragon/pseuds/PencilDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, The Girl's Guide to Fireworks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simply Smashing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starbrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/gifts).



> This hasn't been thoroughly Brit-picked, so apologies for Americanisms and anachronisms. Note, however, the difference between American and British meanings of "fanny." The British meaning is used below.

Silently as a wood-nymph, Jill eased Scrubb’s door open and slid through. Despite Experiment House’s lax attitude toward such things, secrecy was best. 

“Pole?”

She closed the door and turned the lock. “I’m here.”

A sigh of relief, in the darkness. “For half a moment I thought you were Rodney, come back again.”

“I thought you said Rodney was gone home for the weekend.” His roommate.

“He is. It’s just—just nerves.” 

A flare of light. He was bare-chested and half-turned away from her as he lit the lamp. The appealing curve of his spine brought a smile to her lips. She looked away, checking that the curtains were drawn tight. They were. Good.

Scrubb faced her then. Without his usual shirt and jumper, she could look her fill—at his chest with its fine sprinkling of hair, at his arms, taut from archery and swordplay. She wanted to run her palms over the shapely curves of his shoulders and feel his broad back under her fingers, but he just stood there, hands jammed in pockets. She, too, was nervous.

“Well?” she said, to break the silence. “Having lured the fair maiden to your chamber, will you seduce her properly or are you just going to stand there?”

“It’s not like you don’t come in uninvited all the time!” he retorted. 

“No, usually I have to pick your lock.” 

He grinned and crossed the gap between them. “Pole. Jill. I thought you’d never come.”

Snaring his nervous hands in her own, she placed them on her waist, where they belonged. There. Her face tipped up, his bent down. Even after months of kissing, the fresh sweetness of his mouth still thrilled her. His lips were soft and clever, alternating quick nips with long, yielding kisses. She gripped those ( _very_ shapely) shoulders and pulled him closer. 

Standing this way, flush against him, she felt the firm bulge in his trousers. Her face warmed, though it was not the first time she’d felt his hardness. Aunt Mathilda’s insistence that “Nice girls don’t give in,” flashed through her mind, followed by Lucy’s decisive voice, saying “Sex is simply smashing. Of course we women want it as much as men do!” 

Jill wrapped her arms around Eustace and nestled even closer, letting her head fall back so that he kissed her chin and neck, the soft prickles on his cheeks sending shudders through her. Lucy was right. Despite her blushes, she wanted Eustace. She felt safe with him, knew him better than anyone else in the world, loved him more than she’d known she _could_ love anyone. When she kissed him, when his fingers trailed up her arm and along her collarbone until they circled one breast, as they did now, a queer warmth coiled deep in her stomach. It was a novel feeling, but one she wanted more of.

Eustace broke away, breathing hard, and Jill dipped her head to his chest, for she’d discovered that her lips and tongue could elicit a number of exciting responses there. But he clutched her shoulders. “Let’s sit down.”

She’d forgotten all about the bed, just a few feet away. Now they sat on it, and Eustace slipped his fingers under the hem of her blouse, tugging it upward. Obligingly she wriggled out of it and unfastened her brassiere, so that she was as bare as he.

He sighed happily. His hands slid up her stomach to catch hold of her breasts, the tips of his fingers grazing her nipples. She gasped. Of all the things they’d done so far, hidden in the laurels behind the gym or here after his roommate was safely snoring, this was her favorite. She sank back on his pillow, reveling in his caresses and squeezes. When he drew her nipple between his lips and his hot, wet tongue, all words fled her mind.

After a time she opened her eyes and threaded her fingers through his hair so that she could tug his mouth back up to hers. She wanted to return the favor. Kissing him slowly and thoroughly, she rolled over and pushed him onto his back. Then she licked a line all the way from his lips, over his chin, and down his neck, pausing where she could feel the quick pulse of his blood under her lips. 

Her nipples were still wet from his attentions, and the cool night air felt delicious against them. She shivered all over. Then, re-wetting her tongue, she resumed her course, taking her time along his collarbone and the long way around, bypassing his chest entirely, wandering down to his navel and meandering back up. At last she dragged her tongue across the tiny bud of his nipple. His arching gasp delighted her, and she moved to try the other side. That was just as rewarding. 

These investigations wholly absorbed her. There were prior techniques to revisit and see if they still produced the same reactions, and then there were new caresses, flicks, and swirls to try. Each yielded its own shade of expression on Eustace’s face. She watched them all. After a while she laid her head on his chest, her creativity spent.

“Ready?” he asked. 

They had the whole night to themselves, so there was no hurry, but she nodded against him. She had to roll off him, then. She’d worn neither shoes nor stockings, the better to glide through the night, so when she shed her uniform skirt she was left in only her knickers. Scrubb had meanwhile dropped his trousers. They faced each other, hesitating. After a moment he shoved his pants down and she, more slowly, wriggled out of her knickers.

Here was something new. Belts had been unbuckled, fingers had dipped below waistbands. Shyly, they had touched each other. But they had put off fuller exploration for a night when they could be completely alone—and here they were. 

Scrubb grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto the bed, right next to his . . . she couldn’t decide what to call it. Penis? Prick? Willy? (Throbbing manhood? Absolutely not.) It looked bigger than it had felt in the dark. When she touched it, the velvety sheath was even softer than she remembered. Eustace made a stifled sound. She wrapped both hands around it and squeezed gently. He groaned. “Jill. I can’t hold out much longer. I want to look at your—your fanny.”

“All right.” She took her hands away and the two of them squirmed around each other, bumping heads as they exchanged places. She leaned back on her elbows, feeling very nervous now. Scrubb, kneeling awkwardly between her legs, paused to lean off the bed, fumble with his trousers, and extract a square paper condom envelope. Jill snuck glances as he rolled the condom onto his erection. This was really happening. She was about to have sex for the first time. 

His hands brushed up her thighs and parted her curls. It felt different than when they furtively groped each other under their clothes. What did he see? What did she look like, down there? She was glad for the locked door and the rare privacy to focus on the new sensation of his fingers exploring sensitive skin.  
Involuntarily she jerked. “What was that?”

“I just—” 

He did it again and she jerked again, flinching away from his touch. 

“Jill? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” The knife-sharp feeling wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but she wasn’t sure if she liked it.

He must have read her fuller answer in her face, because his prodding ceased. After a minute a finger probed into her and thrust in and out. Jill shut her eyes and concentrated, trying to get used to the foreign sensation in her fanny. Last week she’d enjoyed his touches, clumsy as they were. It had been exciting—daring—and she’d kissed him hard to stifle her giggles as he fumbled with her knickers. 

She was still tense from flinching. Deliberately, she relaxed.

Eustace looked up. “Jill? Can we—can I—you ready?” There was so much nervous hope and need in his face.

Jill nodded and saw his eyes light up. “But kiss me again, first?”

He crawled up her body. She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight. Now his mouth was wet with desire, his kisses hungry, and heat flared again in her belly. She sucked hard on his lip, pushing his hands toward her breasts. Eustace obliged, fondling them the way she liked. A low growl escaped her when he sank his teeth into her lower lip, and when she arched her back with a hum of pleasure he ducked down to plant a wet, swiping kiss on each of her nipples.

Jill closed her eyes to savor her building arousal. “Go ahead.”

She tilted her hips up to meet him and felt him maneuvering above her. His erection bumped against her several times, and then he made a small noise of frustration. Jill opened her eyes and reached down to guide his firm length into her.

He groaned. 

So this was what it was like to have a man inside her. Jill felt exposed, stretched open, completely filled. She closed her eyes once more and again deliberately relaxed. He felt good inside her. Eustace’s hips were moving, jerkily, and she lifted her own hips, trying to find the rhythm. She ran her hands over his bum and across his back. It was as if he was scratching an itch she hadn’t known she had. 

Above her, Eustace whimpered. “God, Jill.” He tensed all over—and collapsed, trembling, on top of her.

“Oof,” Jill grunted, shoving at his dead weight. “What’s wrong with you?” He didn’t answer, but rolled off her. She squirmed away, left with only a precariously narrow bit of mattress along the edge. 

Was that all, then? It was over? It had started to get really interesting, there at the end. Then, just like that, he was done. Jill had overheard other girls gossiping about boys who only lasted a minute or two in the sack, but she’d assumed Scrubb would be different. 

Beside her, Scrubb began to snore. 

Swallowing hard, Jill eased herself off the bed. She found her skirt and blouse and haphazardly buttoned them on, wadding her knickers in her hand. After a minute of patting the floor in vain she gave up on the brassiere and went to the door. 

No one else was in the halls. Soon she was back in her room. Without undressing, she crawled into bed and buried her face in the pillow. She’d been so excited. They’d looked forward to this night for two weeks. Now she felt sore and empty. She adored Eustace’s kisses, and the way he touched her breasts felt wonderful, so why didn’t she enjoy sex? It was supposed to be “simply smashing.” Why did she feel unsatisfied? 

She’d been told that her first time would hurt, but Jill had assumed they meant _physical_ pain. She squeezed her legs together. The memory of Scrubb’s body lingered on her skin, which had thrilled her after their previous trysts. Now the pleasure was overwritten with thwarted desire and loneliness. Jill rolled over and tried to fall asleep. 

A soft tap on the window. Jill lifted her head. Was that wind in a tree outdoors? The sound came again: the two quick taps Scrubb gave whenever he came to her window at night. 

Jill swung her legs off her bed, pressing her lips tightly together. If she could only sleep she would feel better in the morning. What did he want? She pushed aside the curtain and raised the sash. “Yes?” she whispered.

“You vanished.” His face peered out of the darkness, his whisper plaintive.

“You fell asleep.”

“Look—Jill, I’m a brute.”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

“How was it for you?” 

A welter of fragmented thoughts rushed into her mind. This was too long a conversation to have at the window, so she ducked under the window sash and climbed over the sill, landing lightly on the ground and leading him away from the open window. When they had gone far enough not to be overheard, she folded her arms and turned back to him, weighing her words. 

“It was—nice enough, until the end.” Until he started prodding at her like he was looking for buried treasure. “I guess I expected more. Stars and sparkles and all that. What about you?”

“You didn’t like it?”

She hugged herself. “Scrubb, it’s midnight. I’m tired and I’m sore in all my tender bits from your poking. I like snogging you very much, but . . .” Her words trailed off. “I don’t know, did _you_ have fireworks?” Underneath her skirt, she was very aware of her knicker-less state.

Scrubb’s dark form shifted and she heard one foot scuff as he took too long to answer.

“Oh. You did, didn’t you.” It was chilly out here, and her eyes felt gritty with sleepiness. 

“Yeah. It was—it was bloody amazing, Jill.”

“So that’s real, then. Well. Why wasn’t it so bloody amazing for me?”

Scrubb swore and buried his face in his hands. “Edmund is going to murder me.”

“Edmund? What in blazes does Edmund have to do with it?”

Slowly, he muttered, “Edmund warned me quite sternly that it’s a matter of Narnian honor to . . . erm, please one’s lady.”

“You men and your matters of honor!” Jill threw her hands up. “It’s not wholly your fault, either. I—well—” She trailed off again, embarrassed.

“You well what?”

“I—that is to say—see, I tried it once or twice, myself, a few years ago. It never worked then, either. Maybe it just doesn’t work that way for me.” The night breeze was twining up her legs, and she shivered.

“ _Once or twice?_ Half a moment—do you mean that you don’t wank? Ever?”

It was Jill’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “Girls don’t wank, Scrubb. I mean . . . well, some do. But lots don’t. I don’t. Just the couple of times, and nothing much happened, so I gave it up.”

“Bloody hell.” 

Somewhere nearby a bird sang a few sleepy notes. Jill fiddled with her blouse, fixing the stray buttons she’d missed.

“D’you want me to ask Edmund for advice, or find a book, or something?” Eustace scratched his head. “He seemed to know all about it, and I—well, I’ve never done this. Been with a girl, I mean. ”

“I know.” Popular rumor to the contrary. Jill was the only one who knew what really transpired—and _didn’t_ —last year with Angela Taylor. She sighed, not liking the idea of Edmund and Eustace discussing the inner workings of Jill Pole. She sighed. “No, don’t. I’ll talk to Lucy again. She’ll know what the matter is.” Lucy would hug her tight, ply her with tea, and be absolutely unembarrassed by her questions. 

Jill rang her up the next morning. As expected, Lucy was all exclamations and hearty invitations, and so, after Sunday luncheon, Jill headed into town. It felt good to be away from school grounds, even for just an afternoon. She was thoroughly tired of Experiment House. It had been a long, dreary winter, and she hadn’t seen any of the other Friends since winter holidays. (What dreary, out-of-sorts hols those had been. Without Aunt Polly or the Professor, none of them quite knew what to do.)

Lucy met her train. “Susan might join us for tea,” Lucy said as they walked to her flat. “Aisha, who normally shares the flat with me, has been traveling this spring, so Susan’s been staying with me. I can’t very well afford the rent on my own, you know. But Susan’s moving out—today, actually.”

“Where is Susan going?” Jill asked.

“She’s hit it off with—” Lucy broke off, glancing at the assorted people around them. “With a friend. They seem quite well suited to one another, and Peggy has invited Susan to move in with her.” 

“What about you?”

“Lucky for me, Aisha’s coming back next week.”

In a few minutes they had arrived at Lucy’s building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Lucy unlocked the door and called “Jill’s here!”

Susan emerged from the bedroom, her arms full of sheets. “Jill!” She dropped the sheets on a chair and came over to embrace Jill. She smelled of Chanel No. 5 and fresh laundry. “How is school? And my block-headed cousin?”

“School is the same as always. Eustace is—well. We’re fine.”

That effortless arched eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound promising,” Susan said.

Jill creased her skirt between her fingers. Lucy wouldn’t mind any of her questions, but Susan was so very self-assured and grown-up, her skirts always crisp and her lipstick never smudged. Next to her, Jill always felt the urge to check her own knees for dirt.

“What’s wrong with you and Eustace?” said Lucy.

Jill looked up. “Nothing’s wrong!”

“Something is, from the sound of your telephone call,” Lucy shot back. 

“Did you quarrel?” asked Susan with gentle concern. 

“I wish we had—then I’d know what to do. We bicker and make up all the time, you know.”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Lucy declared. “Jill, come cut the cake.”

Susan laid a hand on Jill’s arm. “I must finish packing before Peggy arrives. Do let me know if I can help in any way.”

Jill nodded. Susan picked up the sheets and vanished again into the bedroom.

Lucy didn’t press Jill to talk before tea. As Jill cut cake into wedges, she watched Lucy, who measured black tea with a sure hand. Unlike Susan, Lucy’s hair was cropped short and she wore trousers, a yellow blouse her only acquiescence to feminine tradition. Yet Lucy was as self-assured in her tennies as Susan in her nylons. Jill wished she were as confident as either of them. 

The kettle whistled. Lucy pulled it off the heat, waited a moment, and poured steaming water into the pot. On cue, Susan appeared, taking her seat beside Jill at the small table. In addition to cake, there were toast and sandwiches and sardines.

Jill took a sandwich and passed the plate to Susan. “Tell me more about the friend you’re moving in with?” She wasn’t ready to talk about herself yet.

Susan looked up, frowning at Lucy.

“We were in the middle of a crowd!” Lucy protested. 

“You’re not now.” 

Jill glanced back and forth, puzzled.

“It’s not my news to tell!” said Lucy.

Susan took a slice of toast and reached for the butter, smiling her indulgent-elder-sister smile. “Oh, go on, Lucy. I know you want to.”

“If you _insist_ I can,” said Lucy, grinning back. “Peggy is Susan’s lover.”

Jill blinked. Lover? Like in the penny dreadfuls that some of her schoolmates hid under their mattresses?

Susan, buttering her slice of toast, nodded. 

Jill looked back at Lucy. Her face showed none of the scandalized fascination that had gripped Jill’s schoolmates—Lucy was simply brimming with delight. She’d looked the same way when Jill confided at Christmas that she and Eustace had kissed.

“But—Susan—I thought—” Jill stammered “What about Bill? and Harold? and what’s his name, Jack?”

“Men can be very persistent.” Susan took a bite of toast and chewed it. “Dancing is nice, and of course I did my part for morale during the War. But at the end of the night, if I go home with anyone, it’ll be a woman.”

“Oh.” It sounded sensible and cozy and very, very like Susan. Not like a penny dreadful at all. Jill recalled, suddenly, a dreary night on the northern moors, and Puddleglum telling them about the marshwiggles who lived, alone and with families, in the wigwams near his. Jill had assumed that the female pairs he named were sisters. Now, she wondered.

Lucy was pouring tea all around. “Susan’s always favored women. It’s why she never married in Narnia. Rather thick of the other princes to never catch on and keep trying to court her.”

“Right up to the end.” Susan took a delicate sip of tea, her lipstick still immaculate. “One gets so very tired of men when one is a legendary beauty.”

“Legendary? Really?

“Oh yes. Don’t think I’m vain to say so. I distinctly remember overhearing a ditty about my hair, when we went the second time—a thousand years after my reign! Always my hair. Never my wit or my diplomacy or my knack for codes—but most of them never realized that last one.”

Lucy skewered a sardine. “Half of Susan’s courtships were just intelligence ops, you know.”

“Here or in Narnia?”

“I did my part,” Susan repeated.

Jill tried to imagine Susan with the floor-length hair she’d heard of, and failed. She’d never known Susan to wear her hair much longer than her shoulders. Today, as usual, it was coiffed in soft rolls. Jill realized she was staring and dropped her gaze to her plate. After several bites of sandwich and some tea, she asked, “Would you tell me about Peggy? How did you meet her?”

“Through work. We crossed paths once or twice during the War, but hadn’t a chance to get to know each other until afterwards.”

Jill knew better than to ask for details. Susan was invariably tight-lipped about her work. They all knew exactly what line of work a diplomatic ex-queen would be in, especially one with a knack for codes. They also knew that Susan would never verbally confirm it. Jill nibbled at her sandwich again and waited to see if Susan would continue.

“During the War she was waiting for someone. After, though—we eventually met again, shared a drink, and fell deeply in love.” Susan grinned, a more girlish expression than Jill could remember seeing on her. “She’s intelligent, practical, a crack shot and a codebreaker to match wits with me.”

“ _And_ stunningly gorgeous,” Lucy put in. “Don’t forget that part.”

“I never forget that,” said Susan.

“They’re like two peas in a pod,” said Lucy to Jill. 

Jill laughed. “You invent codes for each other for fun, don’t you?”

Jill could have _almost_ sworn that Susan pinked, just a little. “Yes, we do.” She looked into her teacup, and said quietly, “I’d forgotten what it was like not to be lonely.”

For the first time, Jill realized that the extra years hidden inside Susan and Lucy were not all good. Last year, when she and Eustace went to Narnia for the final time, Jewel the Unicorn had told her about decades of peace and prosperity. Now she wondered, how many of Susan’s years had been lonely? And how lucky was she, herself, to always have Scrubb at her back?

She fumbled for words. “I’m—Susan, I’m glad someone loves you like that, and someone who understands some of your work.”

“Thank you. But enough about me!” said Susan, breaking the pensive mood. “What about you and Eustace?”

“What happened?” Lucy prodded

That was certainly an abrupt turn of conversation. Jill reached for the teapot and poured herself another cup; then she took a deep breath. “We—er—we shagged.”

“Oh!” Lucy bounced in her seat. “How was it?”

“Fine? I guess. I don’t know.” Jill shrugged. “Lucy, I don’t think ‘simply smashing’ is a good description. Maybe you’re just luckier than I.”

Jill heard a soft “Ah,” from next to her. “He didn’t bring you off,” said Susan. “Typical man.”

“Huh?”

“Lucy, how much did you leave out when you talked with her?” Susan asked, her tone sharpening. 

“You’re always telling me to quit explaining things to people unless they want it. We didn’t have a _talk_ , it only came up once or twice, and I thought she’d ask if she had more questions.”

Jill gulped her tea too quickly and pushed the cup away. “Would you both quit discussing me like I’m not here and just explain?” She was, as always, painfully aware of her status as youngest. Even Eustace, though they’d been the same age when they met at Experiment House, had extra months under his belt after his first trip to Narnia. The Pevensies, whether or not they looked it, were all years and years older. Whenever Jill remembered this, she felt like the grubby tag-along, muddling her way through adolescence for the first time.

“Sorry,” said Lucy. “All right. Do you wank?”

Was this explanation or interrogation? Jill shifted in her chair. “No.”

“Ah,” Susan said again.

“What, do you?”

“Of course!” said Lucy. 

“And you, Susan?”

Susan was never as free with personal details as Lucy, but she nodded. 

“Why does that matter?” Jill asked. “I mean, I tried it once but it didn’t work.”

Lucy sighed. “Well. When people have sex, the ‘simply smashing’ part is the orgasm. For men, that’s when they ejaculate—so it’s easy to see whether it’s happened. It’s also easier to make it happen. A little in-and-out—” she gestured graphically.

“We understood already,” said Susan. 

Lucy continued, “—usually does the trick, whether with hands or any other part of one’s body.” 

“Any?” Jill asked.

“Mouth, quim, arsehole.”

Startled by Lucy’s language, Jill looked for Susan’s reaction.

Susan’s lips were pursed. “I learned a very long time ago that Lucy will use exactly the words she chooses.”

“Damn right I will!” Lucy leaned over the table eagerly. “Most women are afraid to talk about sex openly—they can only manage hints and allusions. When something’s wrong they can’t talk about it, so they never discover how nice it can be. Sex is one of the most fun things there is! It enrages me to think how many women never know it can be more than _closing one’s eyes and thinking of England_.”

Jill had heard the phrase before; suddenly she understood it.

“Jill, I use exactly the words I mean so there’s no chance of misunderstanding.”

“I doubt anyone could misunderstand you.” Susan served herself a slice of cake and offered one to Jill.

“Go on,” said Jill, taking the cake and putting a bite in her mouth. “You talked about men. What about women?”

“Well, for us, this—” Lucy repeated her gesture and Susan sighed “—is nice, but it doesn’t do much. Have you ever looked at your body? Really looked, I mean.”

“What part of my body?”

“All of it.”

“No.”

“You must do that first, with a looking glass. Eustace is a man, with different parts than yours, so he won’t know the first thing about how your body works. Men and women like different things in bed, and he won’t know how to make it good for you unless you teach him. And you can’t teach him if you don’t know yourself.”

“Or you could avoid a great deal of bother by kicking him out of your bed and finding a woman,” put in Susan. 

“Susan!” said Lucy.

“Men are more bother than they’re worth.” Susan was unruffled. “They want one thing, you want another, and they will never stop believing that their wants are more important than yours. Men, you see, think they’re the center of the world. They’re also terribly slow learners. But a woman who knows what she likes has a good idea of how to pleasure another woman.”

“I don’t want a woman!” said Jill. “I want Scrubb. I just—I want to have as much fun as he did.”

“I tried,” said Susan, with a wry shrug. Just then the doorbell rang. “That will be Peggy.” She pushed back her chair, walked across the sitting room, and opened the door. 

The woman who stepped into the flat was elegant, dark-haired, and her lipstick was as impeccable as Susan’s. Susan embraced her, and they exchanged a peck on the lips. 

“Jill, this is Peggy,” said Susan, bringing her lady friend over to the table. “Peggy, this is Jill, a dear friend of our family. I’ve mentioned her.”

“You have, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Jill.”

Jill shook the extended hand, thinking that Susan had never looked so deeply, quietly happy. 

Cordialities were exchanged all around. Peggy insisted that no, she’d already had her tea, thank you. “I’m sure you two want to be alone,” said Lucy, her eyes dancing.

“We do have a lot of setting up to do, and I told the cab to wait,” Peggy answered. 

So they said their farewells, and Jill and Lucy helped Susan carry her luggage down to the cab. Just before hugging Jill goodbye, Susan handed her a small brown-paper package. “What—?” Jill began, but Susan leaned in for an air kiss and whispered, “Write me when you run out. And Lucy’s right, you must start wanking.”

Then they were off, in a rustle of crisp skirts and car fumes, waving through the back window of the car. As the car retreated down the street, Jill saw Peggy lean over to say something, and then Susan laughed, her head thrown back in carefree merriment.

Lucy murmured, “I’m not sure she was this happy even with Unila.”

“Who?”

Lucy walked back to the door, holding it open for Jill. “The Nymph of the well in Cair Paravel. She and Susan loved each other for years, from the fifth year of our reign on. They were—well, in the beginning I thought them very grown-up, but I’m older now than Susan was then. They giggled a lot together, and had a great deal of fun playing tricks on Susan’s duller suitors. I know Unila was a great comfort to Susan, being a steady presence through all the ups and downs of our reign.”

There was a familiar note in Lucy’s voice. “But?” Jill pressed. They were climbing the second flight of stairs. 

“Well, even then I think Susan was lonely in a way, especially after Ilene, Lune’s wife, died. There’s a limit to how far a human and an elemental spirit can understand each other, or share each other’s worlds. Susan had Edmund to share her intelligence work, their codes and esoteric late-night conversations. But a brother isn’t the same as a partner.”

“You’re saying Peggy is that partner.”

Lucy pushed the door of her flat shut behind them, sighing. “I hope she is. I can’t _bear_ to see Susan’s heart broken again.”

“Again? What happened to Unila?”

Lucy sat down in her seat at the table, pushing various dishes away from her. “Same thing that happened to everyone else we loved. Gone when we got back.”

“But—was the well filled in?”

“No. You’ve heard the story about our second time in Narnia, how we realized we were in the ruins of Cair Paravel when Susan found the gold chessman by the well? Peter likes to tell it.”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t say it then because she was so close to breaking down, but after the boys were asleep she told me. She didn’t just go to get a drink, but to look for her lover. Unila was gone. Susan used to be more hopeful, more optimistic.”

“Susan? Optimistic?” Susan, as far as Jill knew her, was pragmatic. Clear-eyed to the point of cynicism.

“You never met her before that. She was always reserved, but after that she withdrew. Her heart wasn’t in it, after that. Aslan woke all the spirits up, of course, but none of us ever went back to the Cair.”

“Wow. You’ve never told me any of this.”

Lucy shrugged and began clearing away the tea things. “We talk more about the happier memories. Anyhow, roundabout way to say, it’s been too damn long since Susan was this happy.”

They cleared the table, wrapped up the cake, and split the last sardine between them. 

“I’ll wash,” said Lucy, handing Jill a tea towel. She plunged her hands into the dishpan. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier.”

“No, no,” said Jill. “It’s a lot to take in, is all.”

“I suppose it is. I forget what it’s like to hear these things for the first time—it’s been so long since I learned about sex.” 

“How _did_ you learn all this?”

“Well, the Maenads taught me a great deal.”

Jill dropped the tea towel. “You—Bacchus—when you told me about the revels after Aslan woke the rivers, you made it sound perfectly safe and—and _respectable_!”

“And it was. Susan and I were younger then, and it wouldn’t have been proper for us to be at a full Bacchanal. I’m sure all the rest happened, but it was out of sight from where we were.”

“Then—so you’ve been to a ‘full Bacchanal’?”

“Oh yes. Several times, in fact. I was about your age, my first time, and ready to explode with desire. That’s another thing no one will tell you. Everyone assumes young men want sex all the time and young women don’t care as much, but both times I’ve gone through adolescence I’ve wanted it _all the time_.”

Under her skirt, Jill pressed her legs together, remembering the yearning want she felt for Eustace whenever they snogged. 

Lucy handed her a wet saucer. Jill picked up the tea towel again and dried, her mind full of questions, none of which she wanted to ask.

They finished the dishes in silence. Finally, as she hung up the towel, Jill said, “So what do I do with Eustace?”

Lucy wiped her hands on her trousers and sat down at the table. “First spend some time alone in your room, with the door locked, without Eustace. Get acquainted with your body. Know what you look like. Touch yourself all over, in different ways, and see what it feels like. If there’s a way Eustace touches you that you really like, try doing that yourself. Try gently stroking your clitoris—that’s the little nub that’s very sensitive. And when something starts building, or climbing, or feeling like it’s going somewhere, just follow it.” 

Jill pulled out the chair across from Lucy and sat down. “How will I know when I get there?” 

Lucy laughed. “You’ll know.”

“Then what?”

“‘When you’re confident about making yourself climax, that’s when you let Eustace back in. Teach him how to touch you. Show him how you want to be loved.”

“All right.”

“And don’t be discouraged if it takes a little while. My first lover took two weeks of trying every day, before he succeeeded. If I hadn’t tested things out, on my own, I would have wondered if I was in working order.”

“Two weeks?!”

“Susan’s right, men take longer to learn than women do. But that’s not much help for those of us who like pricks better than quims.”

Jill felt her face burn. “I suppose not.” Awkwardly, she stuck her hands in her skirt pockets, and encountered Susan’s small package.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, as Jill took it out. 

“I don’t know. Susan handed it to me just before she left, and said to write if I ran out.” Jill untied the string.

“May I?”

Jill nodded.

Lucy reached out and felt the outlines of the object through the wrappings. “Oh, KY Jelly. You’ll want that.”

“It’s what?”

“ _Officially_ it’s surgical lubricant. Unofficially it makes sex fun and slippery. Susan has a surgeon friend who gets it for her.” 

“Oh.”

Despite the many pleasant conversations she’d had with Lucy in the past, Jill could think of no alternate subjects towards which to steer the conversation. Thankfully, it was soon time for her to catch the train back to school, and on the way back to the station she thanked Lucy, promising that yes, she would telephone with updates. 

There was a great deal to think about on the way home. Jill had four essays due the following week, and more lines of Latin translation that she wanted to think about. It would be some time before she had a chance to follow Lucy’s advice. The next two weeks were the last weeks of the term—Jill and Eustace’s last term at Experiment House, so there was even more than the usual plethora of essays, translations, and oral examinations. It was—almost—enough to make Jill long for the old days, before Aslan scared sense into the place.

Twice or thrice she and Eustace crept into each other’s beds, but mostly they crammed until late in the evening and then collapsed into dreamless sleep until they had to wake again. When Jill’s mind was too tired to fall asleep at the end of the day, she would lie in the dark, listen to the rain, and let her hands drift down under her knickers. Hesitantly, her fingers went past the tangled hair and rested in the warm, soft folds. It was soothing, she discovered, to fall asleep like this, one hand tucked between her legs. 

Finally, the last examination was over, the last essay turned in, and they—were—free. Jill’s parents were somewhere on the Continent for business, so she went home with Eustace. It felt very odd, that first night, to lie in the spare room touching herself under the watchful gaze of the _Dawn Treader_ painting. She hadn’t had a room to herself in months, though, and wanted to experiment with Lucy’s recommendations.

A slow creak outside her room stopped that thought. Jill whipped her hand up and slid it under her pillow. The door swung open. Eustace appeared, shadowy in the night, and she rolled over to make room for him. 

The bed sank behind her. Then an arm wrapped around her and Eustace’s hand cupped her breast.

“Scrubb—” She caught his hand in hers. “Just sleep, tonight. Nothing else. I’m exhausted.”

“Oh. All right,” he said.

They slept back-to-back, the old way. It was good to have his warmth behind her again. 

Next morning she had a lovely lie-in. By the time she wandered out, Harold and Alberta were gone for the day, and Scrubb was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. He got up and kissed her. 

“Hullo,” he whispered. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“No more reading. No more essays. No more roommates!” He kissed her again. “Now we can do this!”

Jill smiled. “Maybe later. What else are you doing today?”

He blinked. “Well, go to the library, I suppose. Read a book. Walk outside. Nothing important.”

“Good.” Jill drew off a glass of water from the tap and drank it.

“What about you?”

“Mm, I don’t know. Lie around doing absolutely nothing, probably. I’ll see you when you get back from the library.”

She retreated from the kitchen, castigating herself for the opaque phrasing. But what was she supposed to say? “Have fun at the library; I think I’ll try to wank”? Absolutely not. Jill paused at the guest room door and listened. After a minute the back door opened and shut. Good. The house was empty. She shut the door, not bothering to lock it. 

Late-morning sunshine streamed across the bed. Jill dropped her clothes on the floor and lay down, pushing the quilt off the bed and sprawling across the patch of sunlight. It felt odd to be naked. She got up again, took off her watch, tossed it toward her clothes. Then she found a hand-held looking-glass in the bureau and plopped on the bed. It took some maneuvering to discover the way to sit and angle things. Her heart was pounding with nerves by the time she caught sight of her own fanny. Her quim? Jill made a face. She didn’t like that word. She didn’t like any of the words.

Giving up on terminology, Jill looked at herself. She parted the outer folds with her free hand and looked some more, feeling very self-conscious. The skin there was dusky red and smooth like the inside of her mouth. Within the hairy outer lips were thinner, smaller, redder inner folds. When she parted those, she saw the round opening where she bled every month. She stared at it curiously. Someday a baby might come out of there. Two weeks ago Scrubb’s prick (she was starting to get used to that word, at least) had been inside there. It didn’t look large enough for either of those things.

A drop of whitish fluid had gathered at her opening. Jill touched a finger to it, exploring the texture. It was wet and slightly sticky. She slipped a finger inside herself, remembering Scrubb, and felt herself wet and warm around her finger. Slowly, she slid the finger out and up, between her folds, watching each movement intently in the looking-glass. 

She jumped. What was that? She repeated the motion and jumped again. Too sensitive, almost painful. She jerked her hand away and rearranged the glass for a better look. That must be the “nub” Lucy mentioned. A rosy bump peeped shyly from among the folds. Jill looked carefully at everything, pulling her skin this way and that, comparing the shades of different areas, running her fingertip over a place where the skin was nubbly and another place where it was shiny-smooth.

Well. This was all very interesting, despite the lingering illicit feeling. She hadn’t known there was so much down there to see. Jill set the looking-glass on the floor and lay back, resting her hands on her thighs. She closed her eyes, enjoying the orange-y play of sunlight across her lids, and thought about Eustace—about the patch of hair on his chest that she liked so much, about his arms around her. Her hands drifted to her waist, remembering the feel of his hands holding her, and she felt for herself the curves of her hips. She ran her fingers up her sides (distracted for a moment by a stray pimple) and palmed her breasts. They were firm and supple to her touch, her nipples slightly cool in the fresh air. 

Jill wondered what her own face felt like. Her fingertips compared the softness of cheek to the bony of nose and the delicate solidity of eyeball. Eustace would like this scientific data-collection. Eustace wasn’t here, though. Just her, her hands, her body. She could do anything she wanted. Jill traced the ridges of her throat, the dip of her collarbone, and found her nipples again. Their fragile softness fascinated her, as did their coolness against her warm palms. She rolled them between her thumbs and fingers, opening her eyes to watch the way they hardened. Again she flattened them under her palms. Sometimes Eustace poked his fingers into them, so that her breasts mounded up around his fingers. Jill liked that, so she tried it now, and giggled. 

Leaving one hand to continue squeezing and pinching her breasts, Jill sent the other one skimming across her belly to dip again between her folds. She ran her fingers up and down between them, exploring again the textures; she slid a finger into herself and pulled it out, spreading the wetness around. When Lucy advised her to wank, Jill was sure she’d run out of ideas. Now, though, there seemed to be dozens of possibilities. She could pinch and twist the flexible inner lips of her . . . of her quim. She could massage the thick outer lips between her fingers, and tug at the curls of hair. That felt good. 

As she tried these myriad possibilities, Jill noticed that the warm longing she felt with Eustace was back, slowly curling in the base of her stomach. She sighed happily and stretched, squeezing her breasts with both hands. 

Suddenly, there was a voice outside, and her door banged open. “Jill, guess what I—oh!”

Jill felt her face flame as she snatched her hands off herself and sat up, scrabbling for the quilt. “Scrubb.”

His mouth was hanging open. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Wanking.”

“I-I-I thought you didn’t.”

“Seems I do.” Could the man _be_ more dense?

“C-can I help?”

“No!”

Scrubb flinched. 

“No,” she repeated. “No, you may not. I want to be alone, and I want to wank in peace. Why don’t you go to _your_ room and do the same!”

“Al-all right.” He backed out, eyes lingering.

“And lock the door behind you!” she yelled.

The door opened again. His hand fumbled with the lock and withdrew. The latch clicked. 

Jill groaned in frustration and flopped back on the bed, still clutching the quilt to her. What must he think of her? But every time things got interesting, he blundered in and ruined them. She rolled over and scowled. 

After some minutes of beautiful sulking, Jill decided that it would be a shame to waste her hard-won solitude. Half-heartedly, she tried to recapture her lost mood. But Scrubb had startled her, and now her hands felt mechanical against her skin. Sometimes he was such a bumbling idiot. Why couldn’t he read her mind and know what she wanted before she said it? Sighing, she rubbed the heel of one hand hard across her breasts. This was stupid. Maybe she should just put her clothes on and go wash her hands.

No. She’d try one more time. Jill closed her eyes, resting her hands on her stomach, and remembered the times she and Scrubb had snogged behind the laurels. His lips on hers. His hands brushing against her as he fumbled with her skirt, and her stifled giggles. Jill brushed her own hands across her mound, her mouth pursing slightly, as if kissing. She liked it when they kissed and he pulled her tight against him, so that she could feel his body flush against hers. Once, frustrated with the hooks on her brassiere, Eustace had looped his other arm firmly around her, muttering, “Hold still.” Her stomach flipped again, remembering it now. 

Jill kneaded her breasts. She ran her hands down to her knees and traced her fingertips up her inner thighs. Part of her mind still thought this stupid, but—damn it all, she _would_ see it through. Her fingers dipped into the hot-wet-satin inside her opening. The exploratory creativity of earlier was lost, and she felt blind, as if she were shooting in the dark with nothing to guide her aim.

She rolled the outer lips between her fingers, running her thumbs up and down. Then, spreading the folds apart, she very gently touched one fingertip to the nub she’d found earlier. This time, she didn’t jerk away. Taking a deep breath, she moved the finger ever so slightly. It was— _nearly_ —overwhelming. She did it again. And again. Something tightened in her stomach and she gasped. 

This was far more focused than the vague yearning she’d felt with Eustace. The intensity frightened her, but what had Lucy said? “When it goes somewhere, follow it.” This was going somewhere. Jill sank her teeth into her lower lip, the sharp pinch calming and stabilizing her. She stroked the nub again, this time circling just around it instead of touching it directly. That was better. Once—twice—three times.

Slowly, she found a rhythm. With every stroke, the tight want spiraled higher, and she began to feel as though at any minute she would fall. That was a silly thought to have while lying safe on one’s bed, but it still made her nervous.

Distracted with such other thoughts, she lost track of what she was doing. Whatever-it-was faded. Jill snapped her attention back to the sliding friction of skin on skin. After a moment, the pleasant ache between her legs returned. On impulse, Jill grabbed one of her breasts with her free hand and pinched the nipple between thumb and finger. Sensations overlapped, pressure and pleasure and the dizzying circles of her other finger. The tempo increased, faster and then even faster, and her hips twitched. She bit her lip again, imagining Eustace’s voice saying, “Hold still.”

A cool tingle spread through her, and then a shocking, uncontrollable, full-body shudder. Suddenly overstimulated, Jill pulled her hands away from herself, but the rush of euphoria continued. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it was over, and she collapsed, panting. For a time she lay there, her mind blank, her body quivering with little tingles.

So _that_ was what it was all about.

A languorous smile spread across her face and Jill stretched, her back cracking. Fireworks, indeed. No wonder Lucy was so excited. She yawned and got to her feet, feeling loose and boneless. Knickers, skirt, blouse, she dressed, bracing against the bed when her legs wobbled. 

She heard nothing in Eustace’s room as she stepped softly past his door on her way to the washroom, so she washed her hands and descended to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

“What the bloody hell?” Eustace demanded as she stepped into the kitchen.

Jill started. “Hmm?” She felt more deeply relaxed than she had in weeks.

“Last night you pushed me away, this morning you turned me down, and then you go and wank _?_ What the hell, Jill?”

“Eustace—”

“I’ve been tired, too! But it’s the hols, Jill. We finally have time to spend together, my parents are out, and you go and _wank?”_

“Scrubb!”

“I missed you, too. Great to see you again. Et cetera.”

“Eustace Clarence Scrubb, would you _shut up!”_

He stopped. Then, in a much smaller voice, “Was it that awful, last time?”

Jill sighed. “Just—sit down.”

He sat. 

She crossed to the stove, jiggled the kettle to see if it was full, and set it to boil. Lucy would know just what to say. Rummaging through the cabinets, Jill set out pot, tea, and mugs. Lucy would have a ready-made tirade. Jill ran her hands through her hair and sank into the chair across from Eustace’s. 

“It wasn’t—awful,” she began. “Just—nothing happened for me, and then you fell asleep. We talked about this.”

“Yes,” he muttered. “I thought we’d try again. Figure it out. Not that you’d go off and hide.”

“I had tea with Lucy the day after, if you remember.”

“I suppose I do.”

“She and Susan had a lot of advice for me. They said I had to start wanking.”

“ _Susan_ said that?”

“Yes.” Matter-of-fact was the way to have this conversation. “Don’t you?”

“I mean—I’d rather be with you, Jill, than alone.”

“But don’t you? Wank, I mean.”

He looked away. “Yeah.”

“You know how it all operates, you know the quickest way to—you know—right?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t, Eustace. I’ve never done it, before today. I didn’t know what it was like or what to expect.”

She could see him putting the pieces together, one by one. “You’ve never come? Not even once? Ever?”

Jill grinned. “Just the once. But not until today.”

He stared, slackjawed. 

“I had to try it out. That’s what Lucy said. That I couldn’t expect anything to happen with you if I didn’t know how to bring myself off without you. Susan said—well. They said that men and women need different things, when they make love, and that I’d have to teach you what I like. So I had to find out what I liked, first.”

Understanding seeped into his face. “Did you?”

“A little. I think. I want to try some things with you.”

The kettle chose that moment to whistle, and Jill escaped to the stove, busying herself with warming the teapot.

“I’m sorry.”

She scooped tea into the teapot. “It’s all right. We just—I need you to listen. Next time, I mean.”

“I will. We could do it right now.” 

“I know. Let me have some tea.”

She sat down again. Silence, as they waited for the tea to steep. Jill stared at the abstract lines on the teapot. That hadn’t been as awful as she’d expected. He seemed to understand. Her nerves settled, and the relaxed delight returned. Fireworks—for her, too!

Eustace laid his hand on hers, and Jill looked up.

“Jill. I want to learn how to please you.”

She smiled. “It might take awhile. I don’t know very much yet, myself.”

“It’ll be an adventure, then.” A familiar eagerness danced in his eyes: the undertaking of an investigation.

Jill leaned across the table and kissed him. Then, grinning, she poured tea for both of them. “When will your parents be back?” 

“Not for hours.”

They sipped their tea. Jill stole glances at the line of his jaw, his rumpled hair, his hands as they cradled a teacup. Could she find her way back to the euphoria she’d experienced? Could she guide him there, without losing the way? Should she warn him of anything? “Eustace? I think it has to be a lot slower than last time.”

“I’ll try,” he promised. 

She drained her cup and set it down. “Shall we give it a whirl?”

He sprang out of his chair, nearly knocking it over, and followed her up the stairs. 

 

She preceded him into his room and waited as he shut the door behind them. 

“Lock it?”

He did so. Stood there awkwardly, looking at her. “What do I do now?”

Jill began unbuttoning her blouse. “Come here and kiss me.”

He crossed the room in a bound and she squeaked as he swept her up in a passionate embrace. “Mmph,” she said, freeing her arms and wrapping them around his neck. His mouth was eager, insistent. She pulled away to catch her breath. It _had_ been too long since they’d done this. She caught his lip between her own and sucked hard. His hands were on her waist, and this time she waited for him to pull her in, teasing her tongue along his lower lip and nibbling at the corner of his mouth in the way that always drove him mad. 

He jerked her closer. She hummed. It was good, good to be back in his arms, his desire for her so tangible. Jill shifted her hips, pressing against his hard-on, and relished his stifled groan. 

She broke the kiss to nip at him and offer her lower lip for his attentions. He obliged, sinking his teeth into her lip. The nearly-pain anchored her, soothing and exciting at once. Eyes closed, her fingers sought the hem of his jumper, pulling it up until the two of them had to part. He raised his arms so that she could coax his jumper off. 

She sat on the bed and watched him fiddle apart the rest of her buttons. She hadn’t bothered to wear a brassiere. With deliberate slowness, he spread her blouse open, his fingers grazing up her sides and over her breasts as he revealed them. Jill squirmed, intensely aware of the brush of fabric and the subtle texture of his fingerpads. 

“Jill—” was all he said, before his mouth was on her and she fell back, keening with surprise.

Hot—wet—gentle—urging—his tongue on her nipple was like nothing else in the universe. She clutched at him, the curves of his shoulders filling her hands, and she pressed back into the bed, wanting to feel that she couldn’t get away even if she wanted to. She never wanted to get away from the all-encompassing wonder of Eustace’s mouth. His tongue, now lapping at her nipple, now gently circling. 

Jill ran her hands over him, scratching her nails across the bare skin of his back and tangling her fingers in his hair. She strained up into his mouth, feeling deliciously engulfed as he took her in deeper. One of her legs kicked by itself. 

Eustace pulled off her, breathing hard. 

“Please?” she whispered. “Do the other one?”

He nodded. “Catching my breath.”

So she stroked his arms and played with the delightful patch of hair on his chest. In a moment, he dove onto her other nipple with a flurry of wet kisses and tickling caresses. This one he suckled softly, mouthing her nipple between his lips. Her stomach fluttered. At any minute, she felt, she might fly away.

“Please . . . please,” she panted again, not even sure what she wanted and nervous at the thought of asking for it.

He pulled away long enough to say “Please what?” 

She whimpered.

Eustace kissed her, hard, his teeth tugging at her lip. “What is it? I can’t read your mind, Jill.”

“Please . . . can you bite me?” she whispered, her face heating with embarrassment.

A long lick across her nipple, then a gentle nip. “Like this?”

“Harder?” The word was inaudible.

“Hmm?” A devilish grin had come into his face. “What was that?”

Her stomach twisted. “Bite me, Eustace.”

Teeth grazed her collarbone and nibbled on her ear. “Here?”

“No—aah—that tickles!”

“Where?” His voice was teasingly insistent. 

She gasped, squirming as his fingers lazily circled her breasts, inches from where she wanted them. “Eustace, please. Please.” She marshaled her nerves. “Bite my nipple.”

Sharp, hot sensation. She shrieked.

“Jill? Jill, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, no.” She wriggled and thrust her breasts up toward his face. “Do it again.”

“Are you sure? You liked that?”

She nodded, gulping, struggling to find the words she wanted. “I—I liked it all. Do it again.”

He rubbed his nose against her. 

“But—can you—can you kiss them gently first?”

Sweet, soft kisses against tender skin. He rolled this nipple between his lips, now, and the fluttery feeling returned to her stomach. Her other breast felt forlorn, so she reached for one of his hands and planted it where she wanted. “Squeeze me,” she demanded, “and keep going.”

Eustace followed instructions quite well. She arched into his touches, her mind filled with the feel of him. He was nuzzling her nipple now, alternating with light flicks of his tongue, until she thought she might fly apart. She held on as long as she could, digging her nails into his shoulders and biting her lip to better focus on the overwhelming sensations.

“Please please please,” she said when she could take it no longer, and hastily added, “ _Pleasebitemynipple._ ” Exquisite—piercing—red-hot pleasure rewarded her. A guttural rumble emerged from her throat, and her legs kicked again. He bit her harder. “Eustace!” she wailed, grabbing his hair and pulling him closer. It was overwhelmingly good.

He let go, licked her again, and flopped beside her on the bed. This bed was a little wider than their school bunks. There was room for both to lie, if close together. “How was that?” he asked when he had caught his breath.

Another guttural noise was her only answer. She curled into his arms, and they lay together, breathing hard. 

“Let’s take the rest of our clothes off,” he said.

“All right. Do you have the condom?”

“Somewhere. I think they’re still in my luggage.”

“Mmm. Oh!” She jumped.

“What is it?”

“Susan gave me something. It’s in my room. I should get it.”

“Now?”

“It’s for this. I’ll be right back.”

She rolled onto her feet. In a moment, she’d fetched the small parcel and was sitting barebreasted on the bed, unwrapping it. This privacy, with no schoolmasters, roommates, or parents, was awfully nice. 

“What’s that?” he said, propping himself on an elbow.

“Susan gave it to me. Lucy said it would make everything slippery.” She’d forgotten about it, earlier. Now she was curious to see what it was like.

“What exactly did you tell them?”

Jill looked over at him. 

“Never mind,” he amended, looking very uncomfortable. “Don’t answer that.”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “Weren’t you going to take off your trousers?”

“Right-o.” Grumbling about the effort required, he sat up, divested himself of trousers and pants, and wandered across the room to rummage through his bags in search of a square paper envelope. 

Jill had discarded the wrappings and was inspecting the tube. It was, as Lucy had said, marked “K-Y JELLY.” Jill discarded her skirt and knickers, opened the tube, and squeezed some into her hand. It felt strange between her fingers, cool and slippery but not wet. Glancing to see if Eustace was watching and seeing that he was occupied with the condom, she squeezed more onto her fingers and slipped them down between her folds, rubbing it around. That felt good. Why had she forgotten to do this earlier?

Eustace came back to the bed, his wrapped-up prick bobbing with each step. She yanked her hand away from herself, her face flushing.

“God, you’re a knockout,” he said. 

“You too,” she answered, feeling awkward. 

“What did you want to try?” 

Jill’s mind blanked. “Er. Right.” She slid back on the bed, leaning against Eustace’s single pillow and opening her legs. 

His eyes dropped. 

“Can you touch me? Gently, not like, well—not like you’re digging for treasure.”

He grimaced at the last bit and leaned forward on his elbows, his breath warm against the creases of her thighs. 

She spread her lips apart and he slid a finger into her. Gently, as she had asked. “No, here.” Jill pointed. “Here. That’s where you need to touch me.”

“Where?”

She struggled back to a sitting position and pulled apart her folds, her head smacking against his as they both looked. “That. There’s a word for it that Lucy used and I don’t remember. But the little bump there at the top.”

“Here?” He planted a finger exactly on it, and she yelped.

“Ow—gently, I said! It’s very sensitive.”

“Sorry. This better?” He reduced the pressure.

“Less.”

He reduced it again. 

She shook her head. “Less.” 

He was barely touching her when she nodded. “Now what do I do?”

“I don’t know—touch me? Run your finger around the rest of me, there, and do little circles? I’ve only done this once!”

He settled into a more comfortable position and grazed his finger up and down and around. “Tell me if you like it, all right?”

She nodded and leaned back again, closing her eyes to concentrate on the feeling of his finger sliding across her most intimate, sensitive area. “Yes, like that. That feels good.”

His finger sped up.

“No, slow down again.”

She wriggled her hips slowly against him. “Mmm.” This was nice. Better than nice, it was wonderful. Lucy’d talked about women who didn’t know how to ask for what they wanted, but Jill wondered how many men, if asked, would be as obliging as Eustace. She canted her hips up, wanting his hand to move futher down. After a moment, it did so. It all reminded her, disjointedly, of how choosy her mother’s cat was about the way it wanted to be petted.

She felt herself opening up to him, wanting more. He sped up again, and she felt herself imperceptibly pull away. His pressure had increased, too. “Slower, Eustace. And gentler.” He slowed, but not enough. She grimaced. “Ah—do something else for a bit?”

He kneaded and pinched her folds. His touch was experimental, unsure, but heavenly. For some reason, his hands felt loads better against her skin than her own. but it wasn’t taking her anywhere. She melted into him. 

After a few minutes she noticed that she was blissfully content, but not excited. It was wonderful to bask in his caresses. For his sake, though, perhaps she should tell him. “All right, go back to what you were doing before.” 

The almost-familiar warmth began building again. “Not so hard. Slower. Hold up a moment.”

She stretched and ground slowly into his hand, hearing herself make that rumbling sound again. “All right, go ahead.”

He resumed his soft, circular strokes. 

“Yes, just like that. Don’t—ohhh—don’t change a thing.”

She focused all her attention on the single point of gliding pleasure between her legs, and the building tension inside her. “You can speed up now. Just a little. Ooooh, yes.” Oh, that was— _yes._ Words were getting more distant. Her squirming threw off his rhythm, but he persisted. When she wondered whether he’d hold her down and tell her to be still, she realized that she wanted him to. Very much. “Eustace,” she panted. “Could you—would you—” She grabbed his hand, stopping him so that she could form a sentence.

“Yes?”

“Remember when you grabbed me and said to hold still? I—liked that. Can you do that?”

“Sure.” He looked puzzled.

Jill lay back.

“Now, or—?”

“When I move around.”

“Ah.

“Go back to the circle thing first.”

“All right.”

She closed her eyes as he did so. The pressure was thrumming in her, like a deeper version of the fluttering she’d felt earlier. Involuntarily, her hips jerked. 

Eustace’s hand closed on her hip, shoving her down into the bed, the fingers of his other hand continuing their inexorable rhythm. “Hold still.”

She groaned long and loud, bucking against his hand. His firm hold delighted her, anchoring her to him. “Faster,” she wailed. “Faster!”

He obeyed until she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, until she was certain she’d break in pieces, but she bit her lip and clutched desperately at the hand on her hip—waiting—writhing—hoping. 

Then it happened: a long crashing wave of ecstasy that engulfed her. Her back arched off the bed and her whole body clenched with spasms. She felt utterly out-of-control, but Eustace’s hand was still firm on her hip, holding her together, and his fingers still circled her nub, driving her further. Shuddering pleasure shook her.

She found her hands enough to grasp his. “Stop,” she managed. It was too much. 

His hands stilled. 

She collapsed, completely inert, feeling as if electricity was running all over her. Even her cheeks tingled.

“Was that good?”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Didn’t even want to open her eyes. 

The bed creaked as his weight shifted to lie beside her. His arm settled across her stomach. “You all right?”

She nodded, weakly, and curled into his arms again, twitching with aftershocks.

It was a long time until she could speak. “That was incredible.”

“Really? Did you come?”

She nodded. “It was—mggh.” She laughed shakily. “Fireworks. M’face. Still tingling.”

“Your face? That’s never happened to me.”

“Feels strange. Good, though.” Then she remembered his erection, which was nudging her bum. She reached down and wrapped her hand around it. He moaned. Jill rolled onto her back again. “Did you want to—?” 

“God, yes.”

He balanced over her and eased in. She stretched up to kiss him.

It felt good. Satisfying in its own way, but not as exciting as earlier. Jill ran her hands up his arms and down his chest, playing with his nipples, which were so much smaller than her own. She kissed him again and leaned up to swipe her tongue across his nipples, one after the other. 

Soon he was breathing hard, ducking his own mouth to kiss her breasts. Jill found his rhythm and moved against him until he stiffened, balanced for a long moment above her, and collapsed. This time he managed to do so beside her, not on top of her. Jill squirmed to the edge of the bed so that he could roll onto his back; then she laid her head on his chest and sprawled across him.

“How was that?” she asked in her turn. 

“Mnrggh.”

“Let’s do it again, tomorrow." He was already mostly asleep, but she felt exhilarated. Beneath her ear, his heart thrummed its comforting rhythm, When his arms came up to encircle her, she sighed, deeply happy. Simply smashing, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> (To clear up any confusion, TLB happened differently and only Polly and Digory died when Narnia ended.)
> 
> The older I get, the more exasperated I am with how unrealistic 99% of smut is. Even woman-centric smut tends to have lines like "she positioned his thumb exactly where she wanted it, sending her arousal spiraling higher." 
> 
> Which is fine, I suppose, in a long-term relationship, but lots of these fics purport to be a couple's first time together. THAT'S NOT WHAT HAPPENS. I read somewhere that most women take a month to achieve orgasm with a new partner, and of course, 70% of women never orgasm from intercourse alone. And yet! Fic after fic depicts women happily climaxing from intercourse + a few strategic caresses. Bullshit, say I. 
> 
> Then, male bodies, with their subtle changes and textures and fluids, get described in loving detail, while female bodies are glossed over with vague words like "intimate place." But women's bodies are complex, intricate, and often frustrating. Even to their inhabitants. Bullshit, say I again. Thus, this fic was born.
> 
> I cannot thank the lovely and illustrious Starbrow enough for requesting the no-holds-barred, awkward, realistic smut I wanted to write. Many thanks also to freudiancascade for help along the way (especially with LESBIAN SUSAN QUEEN OF OUR HEARTS), larmchop for a delightful beta, and to WingedFlight for cheering me on.


End file.
